


Some of Us Hover

by Amelia_Clark



Series: 1997 Lilith Fair Mainstage (Genderqueer Cas) [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dildos, Fisting, Fluff and Smut, Genderqueer Castiel, Other, Rimming, two people with dicks have lesbian sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21784024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: Dean should’ve realized going to see this art flick was gonna make him feel stupid, and explaining himself makes it worse. The two of them have been not-dating for three weeks now, and Dean’s smitten—not that he’s said so, of course, since he figures it’s only a matter of time before Cas finds someone better, someone more like them. “Like, what the fuck was up with that dance number? Nobody danced like that back then. And the rabbits, I mean, I know they were for her dead kids but that’s fuckin’ weird. The whole thing was pretty fuckin’ weird, that’s my review.”“Sounds like you understood it just fine to me,” Cas says. They start pulling off their winter layers and raise their eyebrows at Dean until he does the same. There’s no coat rack or anything, so Dean stuffs his gloves in the pockets of his parka and drapes it over the back of the kitchen chair; when he’s down to flannel and henley Cas takes firm hold on his shoulders and steers him back against the kitchen counter, pushing his shirt up and bending down to bite his nipple. Dean yelps at that, and Cas laughs, their eyes bright with lust. “Can I fuck you?” they ask.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: 1997 Lilith Fair Mainstage (Genderqueer Cas) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1265063
Comments: 42
Kudos: 111





	Some of Us Hover

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure that spontaneous first-time fisting don't happen often, but you know what? I don't care.

_January 22  
11:22 PM_

“I’m not saying I didn’t _like_ it,” Dean says, while Cas unlocks the door to their apartment. “I just don’t think I really got it? But Rachel Weisz was hot.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short,” Cas says, shutting the door once they’re both inside. “What do you think there was to get that you don’t?”

“I dunno,” says Dean. He should’ve realized going to see this art flick, _The Favourite,_ was gonna make him feel stupid, and explaining himself makes it worse. The two of them have been not-dating for three weeks now, and Dean’s smitten—not that he’s said so, of course, since he figures it’s only a matter of time before Cas finds someone better, someone more like them. “Like, what the fuck was up with that dance number? Nobody danced like that back then. And the rabbits, I mean, I know they were for her dead kids but that’s fuckin’ weird. The whole thing was pretty fuckin’ weird, that’s my review.”

“Sounds like you understood it just fine to me,” Cas says. They start pulling off their winter layers—a long purple scarf they told Dean they knitted themselves, a khaki trenchcoat they swear is warmer than it looks—and raise their eyebrows at Dean until he does the same. There’s no coat rack or anything, so Dean stuffs his gloves in the pockets of his parka and drapes it over the back of the kitchen chair; when he’s down to flannel and henley Cas takes firm hold on his shoulders and steers him back against the kitchen counter, pushing his shirt up and bending down to bite his nipple. Dean yelps at that, and Cas laughs, their eyes bright with lust. “Can I fuck you?” they ask.

Cas hasn’t asked for this before, and Dean’s caught off guard, especially with Cas’s mouth back on him, sucking on his earlobe, sinking their teeth into the hollow beneath his jaw where his pulse is speeding up; he stalls, trying to remember the last time he bottomed. Was it that chef, Benny, the one who liked to bite? “I bet you can, I think you mean _may_ you.”

Cas pulls away and smolders at him, pushing the tip of their thumb into his mouth. “May I fuck you, Dean?” they say in a voice dark and sweet as molasses. Shit. Dean’s as out of his league as that guy with Emma Stone in the movie.

He can do better than a distracted handjob, though. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says around Cas’s thumb. “Does that mean you’re feeling more, uh, masculine than usual?”

“On the contrary,” they say. Their hands are everywhere at once, tugging Dean’s shirts down his arms and over his head, tweaking his nipples, unbuckling his belt. “The movie’s got me in a lesbian mood.” They unzip Dean’s jeans and pull them down his thighs, turn him around so he’s half-bent over the counter, Cas’s lean, warm body pressing against him everywhere. “I want to fuck you like a girl, Dean.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Dean says. Even as he says it, though, he’s bracing his elbow on the counter, spreading his legs a little—because whatever Cas is planning, he knows he’s gonna enjoy it. Dean’s always been the “try anything once” type in bed, and being with Cas has broadened his horizons even further: gender is so much bigger and more complicated than Dean ever gave it credit for—even his own—so if Cas wants him to be a girl, he can pretend to be a girl tonight. “What are you gonna do?”

Cas doesn’t answer, just bends down and nips the back of Dean’s neck before stepping away. “Stay there,” they warn; Dean does, and listens, bare ass on display, to Cas rummaging around in one of the still-unpacked boxes scattered around the apartment. Then they’re back, thumping a bottle of lube and a thick green dildo on the counter in front of Dean. “First I want to put my tongue inside you, and then I’d like to fuck you with this for a while,” they purr in his ear. Dean nods, groaning as Castiel reaches between his legs to grab his hardening dick from behind, stroke their fingers over his balls and back to his hole, pressing and rubbing in circles. “And after that—have you ever been fisted?”

“Um, no,” Dean says. He’s never even considered it before, honestly, or done it to anybody else. He wasn’t actually sure it was a thing people did outside of porn. “But I’ll—if you want, we can try.” 

“Yeah?” says Castiel, sounding pleasantly surprised. They pick up the lube, and soon their fingers are back at Dean’s hole, slippery and skillful. “I promise, I’ll stop the instant it’s too much. All you have to do is tell me.”

“Okay, baby. I trust you,” says Dean, and Castiel’s fingers stop moving for a second.

“Thank you,” they say, and drop to their knees.

Dean arches his back and groans as Cas licks over his hole, making a guttural noise of satisfaction that makes Dean shiver. Their tongue is relentless, licking Dean sloppy and wet until he thinks that he’ll die unless he gets something inside him right this minute—and then Cas is pushing in the tip of their tongue and one finger together, and Dean tries to say “Oh fuck, that’s good” but he thinks all he gets out is “Oh fuuuu,” because Cas is laughing and their mouth is gone.

“You’re so wet,” they say, their finger sliding deeper inside him; it’s true, Dean can feel his ass and thighs slick with Cas’s spit and the lube Cas is working into him now with a second finger. “Am I making you wet, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean pants, “my pussy’s so wet for you, Cas.”

Cas whimpers, and Dean feels a rush of victory that only lasts a moment before Cas’s face is buried in his ass again and all he can feel is _more._

And Cas gives him more, keeping up with their tongue while they work in a third finger, adding more lube till they’re sliding comfortably in and out; Dean doesn’t know if he’s ever been this turned on without his dick getting any attention. Then Cas stands up again and gets the dildo, holding it where Dean can see as they coat it with lube. “Ready for me to fuck that pussy?” they say, and Dean nods so fast he makes himself dizzy, shoving his hips back into the toy when Cas starts easing it in.

It’s a little weird, feeling the dildo fuck into him while he can also feel Cas’s actual junk pushing hard against his thigh. Dean doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he lets it out; his body relaxes further around the toy, pulling it deeper inside him, and Cas makes that satisfied noise again. “You like that,” they say confidently. “If I’d known you were so greedy to get fucked, I’ve have done it weeks ago.”

Dean moans—he’s so far from being able to string together a sentence right now, and Cas’s voice is so calm—and drops his head to his forearm on the counter, rolling it from side to side and trying to breathe steady while Cas thrusts further in, pulls out, pushes in a little more. Just when Dean’s thinking he can’t take anymore (the dildo hadn’t seemed that big, but anything feels bigger when it’s in your ass), Cas bends down, their chest molding against Dean’s spine, and kisses his neck. “I’m going to start slow”—they demonstrate—“but I want you to ask for more when you want it, okay? Can you do that?”

“Uh-huh,” Dean gasps. “More.” Cas laughs, delighted by his enthusiasm, and shoves the dildo in a little harder. “More,” Dean says again, lifting his hips and grinding back against them; _“more,”_ again, and Cas is rocking their pelvis in time with the toy, rubbing wet fingers over Dean’s left nipple, and they’re whispering the filthiest fucking things in Dean’s ear, telling him how tight and wet his pussy feels, how sweet it tastes, how hot he looks bent over and taking it. And Dean, sex chemicals sizzling down all his nerve endings, blood thumping in his ears and between his legs, Dean can almost feel it, too, can almost untie himself from this body and occupy another. He didn’t know sex could do this, and suddenly he’s freaked out; he reaches back and grabs one of Cas’s hips. “Hey,” Dean says, and catches his breath for a second, “hey, you should quit that or I’m gonna come.”

“All right,” Cas says, stepping back and sliding the dildo out of him. They replace it with a couple of fingers—not going in very far, just holding Dean open a little, keeping him from feeling empty. “Does that mean you’re still on board to attempt fisting?”

Dean straightens up and turns around, dislodging Cas’s fingers from his ass; impulsively, he grabs their hand and brings it to his mouth to suck clean. Cas watches with the intensity of a cat stalking a mouse; they’re still fully clothed, just the sleeves of their shirtdress pushed up to keep them clean. For once, Dean’s pretty sure he knows what they’re thinking: that they really want this, but they’re trying to play it cool so Dean won’t feel pressured—and it works, he doesn’t, he just wants it too. “Yeah, I am,” Dean says, “but can we do it in bed? My knees are gonna give out.”

“Absolutely,” says Cas. “Let me go get some towels to put down while you get those clothes off.”

“Are you gonna take anything off?” Dean asks, shuffling over to the bed to sit down and take off his boots and jeans. He’s not self-conscious about being the only one naked—that’s always kind of a turn-on—but Cas is so fucking hot and Dean’s only human. 

Cas shakes their head. “I want you to be able to concentrate on what I’m doing to you,” they say, spreading a couple of towels over the sheets. “I want your full attention.”

“You’ve always got my full attention, Cas.” He tugs Cas onto the bed with him, wipes their mouth on the corner of a towel so he can kiss them. “I can’t stop looking at you when I’m with you, or thinking about you when we’re apart.” Shit, he’s drifting dangerously close to a confession here, time to redirect. “Uh, should I be on my hands and knees? What’s gonna be easiest?”

“No, lie on your back so I can see your face.” Dean complies, lets Cas arrange him to his liking, his knees hiked up and a pillow under his ass; Dean grabs another pillow and shoves it under his head, so he can see Cas’s face, too—and their hands, as they coat their fingers in more lube and bring them back to Dean’s hole. Biting his lip, Dean resists the urge to close his eyes and stares Cas down. 

Fuck, they’re hot, even with all their clothes on. It’s the look on their face, awed and giddy with lust, a wide smile and eyes intent on Dean’s until they slide in three fingers at once and watch that instead, their breathing getting quicker. “Are you sure you don’t want to come first?” they ask without looking away from their work. “It might make this easier, since you’ve never done it before.”

Dean would blush if all the blood in his body weren’t occupied right now. “You’ve been fucking me for awhile already, Cas, I feel pretty loose.” He tilts his hips into Cas’s fingers so they’re hitting his prostate and gasps. “Just keep adding more lube, I wanna come with you inside me.”

“Fuck,” Cas says, and they don’t sound calm anymore. Dean can feel their pinky slipping along the edge of his hole, then the tip pressing in; it hurts for a second, but he rides it out knowing it’ll turn to pleasure, grabbing his legs behind his knees to spread himself wider. 

And God, when it starts to feel good it starts to feel _really_ good, even better than the rimming or the dildo, and Cas’s face is the icing on the cake—they’re still fixated on Dean’s hole and their four fingers stuffed in it; their mouth hangs open a little even while a smile hovers around the corners of their lips. They keep up a steady supply of lube, drenching Dean in the stuff till he can feel it oozing down his thighs. 

“More,” he says when he’s ready, and Cas whimpers and pushes their thumb past Dean’s stretched-out rim—another wave of pain that makes Dean wince, but Cas feels him tense and freezes, lifts their eyes to Dean’s again and holds perfectly still while Dean breathes through the discomfort, waiting for Dean to move before they do. Which Dean does, of course, fucks himself down onto Cas’s fingers and thumb, feeling sloppy and open and shameless. “Do it,” he says, “c’mon, Cas, do it, shove it in,” he gasps, and there’s a moment when he thinks it’s never gonna fit and this was all a terrible mistake, and then Cas is adding yet more lube, and then—Cas’s whole fucking hand is inside him.

“Wow,” Cas says in a small, awed voice; Dean laughs, then moans at the ripple of pleasure his laughter sends through him. _Intense_ doesn’t even begin to cover it: Dean’s pretty sure he’s never felt so deeply _in_ his body, fully conscious of every square inch of skin, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, nerves lighting him up from head to toe. And Cas hasn’t even moved yet—they’re wide-eyed and still, staring at where their wrist disappears into Dean’s body. “Are you okay?” they say after a moment, eyes flicking up to meet Dean’s. For once, they actually sound a little shy.

“I’m fuckin’ fantastic, baby. Fuck me,” Dean says. Cas’s knuckles turn a little inside him, and Dean comes all over himself with a wail.

This time it’s Cas who laughs. “You liked that, huh? Can’t believe you’ve just been fucking me all month without asking to switch when you’re such a bottom.”

Dean tries to scowl and ends up grinning instead. “Hell, this was awesome, but fucking you ain’t a chore, believe me. Gimme a minute to catch my breath, I’ll go down on you, okay?” Cas nods and starts to work their hand back out of him, just as slow and careful on exit; at the same time, they bend over to lick Dean’s come off his stomach, and so it takes Dean an extra minute to pull himself together. 

He’s still a little breathless when he hikes up Cas’s skirt, yanks down their tights, and wraps his lips around them; he sucks hard until they grab at his hair, then happily takes his time licking them to orgasm, humming his own pleasure when Cas thrusts against his face and murmurs his name. Right before they come, they push Dean’s face back, holding him in place; Dean closes his eyes and tilts his chin upwards, and hears Cas make a noise halfway between a moan and a sob an instant before their come hits Dean’s cheek. He turns his head to catch the last of it on his tongue.

Cas flops over onto their side on the bed, arms wide. “That was bracing,” they say. “Do you want first shower?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Dean feels sticky everywhere, and his knees wobble when he stands, but he makes it to the tiny bathroom and takes a piss while the water warms up.

Under the shower, he prods gently at his back door; he’s a little tender, but things seem like they’ll get back to normal soon. The night sure hasn’t been what he expected; the movie was more of a mindfuck than he’d thought from the poster, and he assumed afterwards Cas would bottom as usual, but his policy of being up for anything really paid off this time. He wonders if Cas would ever want to fuck him for real—no, that’s not what he means, tonight was as real as it gets—he means, would Cas roll on a condom and put it in, thrust into him hard and fast until they come inside him? There must be a way he can ask that’s not gonna make Cas feel pressured to have that kind of sex if they don’t want, he’s just not likely to think of it now after an orgasm like that.

Cas only has two towels, and they’re both on the bed covered in lube and jizz, so Dean’s still naked when he comes out of the bathroom; Cas is standing right there, shirtdress half unbuttoned and tights slung over their shoulder, and they give Dean an unabashed once-over, then a rough kiss on the mouth. “You did so good, Dean, I’ll be thinking about tonight for years,” they say, and close the bathroom door behind them, leaving Dean with the word _years_ echoing in his head while he pats himself dry with a dishtowel and puts on enough clothes to be warm. 

The shower shuts off, and Dean hears Cas grunt in irritation when they also realize where their towels are; they come out of the bathroom wrapped in their shirtdress like a robe, hair plastered to their forehead and the back of their neck. Dean comes over with another dishtowel, rubs it briskly over their head, and they lean into his touch, slipping the hand that was just inside Dean up under his T-shirt. Their fingertips stroke gently along his side until they hit a ticklish spot, and Dean jerks back with a giggle.

They raise an eyebrow, considering, and move their fingers again. Dean giggles again—he can’t help it—but he grabs Cas’s wrist, gasps out, “Don’t do that, okay? I don’t like being tickled.”

Cas’s fingers slacken instantly. “Oh, sorry. I should’ve asked.”

“You just had your fist shoved up my ass and you think you should ask before you tickle me?” Dean snorts. “See, this is why I trust you.”

Again, the words have a weird effect on Cas; they fidget for a second and then ignore him altogether. “Speaking of,” they say instead, their fingers sneaking down the back of Dean’s long johns, “how sore are you? Happy to kiss it better.”

“Can’t get enough of me, huh?” says Dean, trying and failing to keep his voice even while Cas pets his sensitive hole with a fingertip. 

“No,” Cas says, still petting and pressing. “Not in general, and tonight we’re having lesbian sex, remember?”

“But—Cas, please, stop doing that for a second so I can think.” Cas sighs and moves their hand to Dean’s ass cheek. “Is it—are we allowed to call it lesbian sex?” Dean asks. “I know you’re kind of a girl, but I’m just a cis dude pretending. Is it okay for me to do this?”

Cas rolls his eyes to Heaven, like he’s personally acquainted with God and expects him to miraculously cure Dean of his stupidity. Or possibly smite him. “You have the worst fucking timing, Dean. The short answer is yes, it’s okay, we’re playing. Who’s gonna stop us, the Lesbian Police? The slightly less short answer is that the Lesbian Police exists, but most queer women care about how they’re treated and not what we call what we do to each other. Now, do you want to discuss queer theory, or do you want me to lick your pussy some more?”

*******

Dean’s alarm goes off at 7 the next morning for work, and he sticks an arm outside the warm cocoon under Cas’s blankets to grab his phone and silence it; next to him, Cas grumbles and yanks the covers up over their head. He lets them sleep—he knows they don’t teach till 10 on Wednesdays—while he showers and scrounges up breakfast, gets re-dressed in his own jeans and one of Cas’s shirts—more of a blouse, really, but it’s soft and he likes it. 

The toaster dings, and Cas rolls over and makes a noise; they sound a lot less grumpy than before, and so Dean sits on the bed and peels the blankets back from their face. “Morning, Cas,” he says. “I gotta take off in a sec.” They look up at him with those damn blue eyes, and Dean thinks, not for the first time, that they’re like the sky he saw out the window of the plane, the one time he ever flew: endless and awesome and absolutely fucking terrifying.

Cas yawns, running both hands through their hair so it sticks up everywhere, and then blinks several times. “Dean, did I—did I _fist_ you last night, or was that an exceptionally vivid dream?”

“No, that was real.” 

They grin like they’ve won the lottery and pull him down by his collar for a kiss. “You’re amazing,” they say. “I really didn’t expect you to say yes when I asked, and then I was sure you’d want to stop in the middle, but you didn’t, and Dean, it was beautiful, feeling you come around my hand. _You_ were beautiful.”

Dean knows they’re trying to compliment him, but there’s an ugly twist in his gut at just how surprised Cas is that Dean agreed to fisting—even though Cas keeps saying it’s not experience that makes you queer, Dean still feels like Cas is way ahead of him, and this doesn’t help the nagging voice that tells him Cas does too. So instead of answering, he lies back down on top of the covers and kisses Cas until that voice shuts up. “I’m gonna be late,” he says after a while. Cas sighs and takes their hand out of his pants.

“All right. Do you want to get dinner tomorrow night? My officemate told me we’ve been ordering from the wrong Indian place in this neighborhood, there’s a much better one.”

“Can’t, having dinner with Mom for my birthday,” Dean says.

Cas sits up. “It’s your birthday tomorrow and you didn’t tell me?”

“Why would I? We’re not _dating.”_

Several emotions flash across Cas’s face: hurt, annoyance, confusion, and back to hurt. “Yes, but—” they start, and that’s it, Dean has to get out of here right now. He stands up and Cas grabs his wrist, hard. “Dean, is this just sex to you?”

Which is not what Dean expected them to say. He stares down at Cas’s hand on his wrist; it’s the one that was inside him, and maybe someday that won’t be the first thing Dean thinks of when he sees that hand, but not yet. “No, it’s not,” he says, and then, because he might as well admit it, “it’s really, really not just sex for me. Sorry.”

Their grip slackens and falls away; Dean’s wrist is red where they held him, and they rub their thumb over it in apology. “Don’t be sorry,” they say. “It isn’t that for me, either—I tried, I really did, but you’re funny and sweet and kind and I _like_ you, Dean, I like you a lot.”

Dean looks down at his shoes. “I like you, too, Cas.”

“I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I didn’t, or that I wouldn’t care about your birthday. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” says Dean. “But you still don’t wanna say we’re dating, and I don’t get that—because we go on dates, and we have awesome sex, and we like each other. That’s better than half the official relationships I’ve ever had. And I don’t see how we can be ‘friends with benefits’ if we weren’t friends first, you know?” He sighs and sways, caught between Cas and the door, with the world outside waiting behind it. “I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it does.”

Cas scoots over on the bed and tucks their index fingers through Dean’s belt loops, tugging him closer. “Let’s say we’re dating, then. You make a good argument.”

“For real?” Dean’s embarrassed by how excited he sounds, like a kid whose dream date just agreed to go to the prom. “So you’re my—what should I call you, instead of boy- or girlfriend?”

Cas shrugs. “Everything’s a little clunky. ‘Partner’? ‘Person’? My last girlfriend called me her ‘personfriend,” but she was a nightmare of a human being, so don’t call me that.” They smile with all their teeth and tug a little harder; Dean stumbles and ends up half-horizontal again, with Cas’s fingers slipping under his waistband. “But if you want to be accurate, just call me yours.”

Dean’s an hour late to work, but he walks in grinning.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like absolute garbage today, please tell me I'm a good pornographer.


End file.
